Screw You, Fate
by sam-makes-pancakes
Summary: When you wish you upon a star, you get screwed over. Fate's a bitch as I find out.-Rewrite of my story Shut Me Up! Rated M for bad language and crappy summaries. Enjoy!


**A/N: Hello, y'all! This is a rewrite of _Shut Me Up!_ Enjoy and leave a review! :D**

_By sam-makes-pancakes_

**Fuck You, Fate**

_Chapter 1_

Life is weird.

You've been taught all through school that the key to life is happiness and that to get happiness you must get an education, get a good job, and have a family. No. I don't want happiness. I want to fucking mean something to this world. I want to do things that leave my name imprinted in history books like a hot iron brand on cattle. I want to leave this world having felt like I helped change this fucked up reality.

I sat in my room, glaring at my many paintings that endlessly mock me. All unfinished, all stroked with terrible precision. Biting my cheek, I looked at my unsatisfactory walls. My eyes dart over the small imperfections caused from when my grandpa and I had scrambled to finish the room when the house was first bought. There was a part by the door where I had slipped and accidentally painted the baseboard blue and I had long forgotten to fix the large spot.

The whole room mocked me. My TV that mounted my wall with its finger smudges from my dad and I when we put it up, the windows that blocked the outside world with its dirty glass and screen protectors, my cast iron bed that I sat upon which supported a lumpy, deformed mattress, and my Xbox that now lays on the floor because the shelf it rested on just under my TV fell. My whole room was one big unsatisfactory screw-up of what my life really was. The paintings that scatter my floor hold so much potential yet this is where they stay- scattered on the floor being glared at by my brown eyes.

I groaned, "My life is just one big painting that doesn't catch anyone's eye."

I crawled out of my bed slightly wincing at the soreness at the back of my legs, having had softball practice the day prior. Giving one big swoop of my bedroom, I tiptoed over my unfinished paintings to actually get to the door, the unfinished projects being like mine fields of drying oil paint.

Walking past my little brother once I made it out of my room, I grabbed his little arm, stopping him in his tracks and squatting down to be eye level with him. My brother Nate was my soul, the hand holding the string to my balloon that keeps me from flying away and pumping me full of air when I'm low.

"Hey, little man!" I ruffled his sandy-blonde hair and kissed his cheek. His blue-grey eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning, smiling at me like I was the best thing since sliced bread.

"Hey, sissy!" Nate launched himself at me, squeezing my neck in one of the biggest hugs I could ever get from someone half my size.

I hugged him back, "I love you, Nate. I'm going outside for a while. Maybe you should go get in bed before the Claw comes out to get you..." I formed my hand in a claw-like motion and fought my way past his arms to tickle his sides. His laugh rang out like chimes in the wind. I gave him a kiss before he ran off in the other direction.

Outside, I sat on Dad's tailgate, staring up at the stars. Little specks twinkling, giving life to the endless void that is space. My heart always seems to swell when I look up at the stars as they bring promise and hope to my restless mind. They tell me that life will get better—that one day I'll have meaning.

As I gazed across the sky, a shooting star shot across my view and disappeared into the void. Quickly I closed my eyes, wishing that my life would hold some meaning to it. That I'll become someone, that my life will quit being so boring and tedious, that I will live in a world where I can be myself without being persecuted. I know wishing is such a childish thing to do, but I have run out of options, run out of patience, run out of tolerance for my own thoughts that constantly push through my brain—

Darkness. My eyes were blinking, I could feel the moister my eyelids supplied to my cornea, but I saw nothing. Just an endless void of blackness. I felt numb, but I knew I was moving because I hear the wind pass thought my hair and I am rapidly picking up speed.

**~o~**

I had been unconscious for some time now, and I was in the process of finding my body without actually opening my eyes. I moved various limbs making sure they were still there, making sure nothing ached or was broken. Moving my legs, I winced at my sore under part of my legs and silently cursed Coach. Colors danced behind my eyelids, throbbing in rhythm with my headache that had started to form. I peeled open my eyes which had crusted together from tears. My eyes scanned my surroundings, getting use to the dim light and taking note of the dank, musky smell of the room.

This was most defiantly not the place I had originally fell asleep in, but then again I don't remember where I had actually fallen asleep at, or rather, even falling asleep at all. I slowly sat up, putting my face in my hands, massaging my temples.

"Where the fuck... am I..?" I groaned.

"I'd be happy to tell you," An accented voice said from under me, causing me to jump slightly and look down, "if you would kindly get the _bloody hell off of me_."

I jumped up and moved to the far end of the musky room, ignoring my sore legs as I watched as the figure I had been sitting on slowly get up, moaning. "Usually my spells don't exactly work." He told me, his voice was light, with a very noticeably British accent hitting my ears in waves.

"W-What're you talkin' about?" I stuttered, my, sadly, very noticeable southern accent making me cringe.

The figure walked towards me, making me slam myself back into the wall I was in front of. Each footstep was carried throughout the room, seemingly magnified in sound. Each tap of his shoe making me want to disappear into the wall. My heart was racing a mile a minute and I began to realize that I might be on the verge of hyperventilating. The man stopped a few paces from me, the light made it to where he was most definitely a shape standing in front of me, but I was unable to make out features aside from the fact that the figure was thin, about my height, which wasn't really anything impressive since I was a good five feet seven inches.

He reached around me, making my breath catch in my throat. The small dark room suddenly lit up, making me yelp and covering my eyes. I blinked rapidly, trying to quickly get use to the sudden change of lighting.

The figure in front of me quickly became a man. His short, messy, blondish hair shot around his head in little tuffs, but his eyes (_Wow.) _were a cliché emerald green that sparkled like the earliest of evening stars.

"I-I-I..." Stumbling, I made some distance from me and the British man. "Who are you?"

The man grinned, showing me a large leather-bound book that lay across an odd-looking circle surrounded by candles, "I am the one who summoned you, love." He looked me up and down. "You know, I actually imagined you'd be a bit more...terrifying. You are not what I thought demons looked like."

I glared and crossed my arms, "Who the hell're you callin' a _demon_?"

He looked at me confused. "You—you are a demon right?"

"I most certainly am not!" My eyes narrowed, my shoulders tensing. I wanted to punch him.

The British man stared at me wide-eyed, "No, no no nonono. NO!" He turned away from me, his robe flying behind him reminding me oddly of Harry Potter. I raised my eyebrow at him and watched as he frantically flipped through the pages if his leather bound book, mumbling incoherently.

"I preformed the spell correctly..." He finally stopped his frantic flipping and stood dumbfounded, staring blankly at the wall just past me.

I didn't know what to do. I woke up on top of a strange British man, in a pentagram. I was pretty certain I hadn't had a single thing to drink that would have caused me to blackout. But now that I think about it, I don't exactly remember a time where I've gotten blackout-drunk before either.

Clearing my throat to get his attention, I stepped forward. "Sir, I'm really sorry about... this intrusion, but I assure ya, I don't remember how I got here and I most certainly am not a demon..." I locked eyes with him, trying as hard as I possibly could to not get lost in those strikingly green eyes—wait. I looked just above his eyes to a pair of surprisingly...bushy eyebrows. It all hit me at once.

"Holy shit." I said, "A-Are you... England..?" My eyebrows scrunched together as I covered my mouth. Please, for the love of the gods let me be wrong.

The man tilted his head slightly "How on Earth did you know that I am England?" He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

I grabbed at my chest, feeling my heart drop as he confirmed my suspicion. Of course, I've written about this moment so many times, have wished for this far too many times I'd like to admit. I jinxed myself, Fate is somewhere with a tub of popcorn watching my despair and laughing her ass off.

I was in a different dimension. One based off an Anime/Manga I had been obsessed with ever since my friends had shown it to me in the eighth grade. Lately I had drifted far away from that anime and had almost completely forgotten about it. Of course, Fate would use the exact time I had forgotten about it to use it against me.

I felt like I was going to be physically sick. I could feel the bile rising into my throat. I looked at him, horrified at the fact that some crazy dream I had as a pre-teen came true. The room was starting to spin, England tripled in number, and there was a darkness starting to fog around the corners of my vision. The last thing I remember was a startled England running towards me.


End file.
